huntress
by GlimmerIcewood
Summary: All along, they knew that she was the exact definition of a perfectly engineered warrior, while he was the starving boy only alive because he belonged in this environment. Huntress versus Hunted. —for Toxophilite.


AN: I own nothing. Except my own ideas. _The Hunger Games _and its associated characters belong to Suzanne Collins.

To the lovely(bastard for winning) Toxophilite. Because you won the contest and I'm being forced to write this for you, Evan. Just kidding. Love you, bro.

_Shot down my strangers,_

_whose glances can cripple,_

_the heart and devour the soul_

_- The Used_

xx

The snow had started falling over an hour ago, thick white flakes that caked everything they settled on. The branches overhead bent under the weight and every so often some would slide off, making the drift he is hiding behind even taller.

He managed to snag a backpack from the cornucopia and a long-handled spear, the only weapon he could see filling the horn. His backpack was filled with a few precious items - some crackers, a thermal blanket, an extra pair of gloves, though all they've done is make the sweat drip down his arms. But in an arena with frozen air like this one, the pickiness is soon driven out of you.

The blizzard is getting worse, trying to drive him closer to his enemy. He knows that she's out there, waiting, but there is still one other person left. She'll go after the other boy first, he knows that. But once he dies, the young boy will have no where left to run.

xx

When the cannon echoes throughout the arena, it does not surprise the fifteen year old from District 8 in the slightest. The boy from District 2 is dead - Nero, he thinks his name was. The gamemakers will drive the final two together, though there's really no need to.

He starts moving before the gamemakers force him.

xx

The snow is knee deep in most spots, and he's never been that tall. Small hops carry him through the worst of it, though, and soon he has emerged in a large clearing. The cornucopia is over the hill nearest to his position, he can just see the top of the shining golden horn. He hasn't seen his enemy yet, but he'd like a bit of warning. She's armed, she's a career, and she's certainly eager to go home.

He stops at the top of the hill, gazing down into the valley below him. The cornucopia was picked over long ago, and only a few long spears remain in the bottom. The boy from District 8 has almost started to believe that he's alone, when he's sees a shadow flicker from behind the towering horn.

There are only two things that the fifteen year old knows.

His name, and his fate - disclosed in an envelope with a shining golden seal.

Faust Dellivere of District 8 was never designed to live through her.

xx

Cashmere Winters is from District 1 and was born ready to conquer. She was made for this, a perfectly designed fighter that could strike with only a moments notice. Killing comes naturally, almost like riding a bike or taking a test.

Except in reality, this is much, much different.

xx

She knows that her competition is there before he even sees her. She can feel his presence across the clearing, and it only takes a peek around the horn to confirm her suspicions. In two graceful steps, she has rounded the cornucopia to face her target, his dark brown eyes large with fear.

"Hello, Faust. I think it's time to end this."

xx

Her movements were too quick to follow.

In only seconds she had crossed the distance between them, the snow crunching under her leather boots. In her hand she held a silver sword with a sturdy hilt, the most precious gift sent to her by her sponsors. She had no talent with a spear - almost no one in the arena had except her District 4 allies, long dead by hypothermia.

She stops just in front of the boy, watching his eyes for his next move. Hers are like ice, so cold and blue like the environment around them that it's hard to focus on anything else. He grips his spear in his hand, though it would be a miracle if he actually knew how to use it.

In every District, in every Capitol home, the audience sits and waits with shaking hands for one child to fall.

xx

The first strike was lightning fast, a blur of movement that almost no one saw.

Her foot struck his jaw with such force that blood spattered out of his mouth and ran down his chin. You had to give the kid credit for just staying upright. The smile on her face grew seeing the grimace of pain on his face - there had to be something wrong with his jaw. His knuckles tightened around the spear handle, turning them as white as the snow around them. He swung the blade at her head, and she ducked under it as if it was childsplay. The laugh that erupted from her mouth was so trilling, so care-free that it only infuriated him even more.

"Really, Faust? If that's honestly the best you got, I should just get this over with."

His teeth gritted together, and through the pain in his jaw, he said only one thing.

"We end this now."

xx

Faust disappeared around the side of the cornucopia like a cheetah, dropping his heavy weighted backpack in the snow behind him. Cashmere followed with an almost comfortable gait, not looking at all nervous to face what could be her impending death.

What she didn't expect was the blunt handle of a spear to collide with the side of her head.

She sprawled to the ground, clutching the side of her head with one hand, while keeping the sword firmly held in the other. A slight trickle of blood ran down the side of her head, mixing with her golden hair. Faust dropped down from the top of the cornucopia, staring at the girl on the ground with furious eyes. The blood from his mouth continued to drip down the side of his jaw, landing lightly on the snow beneath him.

Cashmere's sword launched upwards from her side, a blur of movement, and she rolled over, catching Faust in the leg with the sharp tip as she did so. In the second that he recoiled from her weapon, dropping his own in the process, she leapt to her feet, ignoring her aching temple, and pointed the sword directly at his head.

All's fair in love and war.

And this was certainly war.

xx

Before he could run, she had leapt after him, wrapping her thin arms around his ankles. He smashed into the snow, his thick-furred hood the only thing protecting his head from the rock hard ground. Her fingers locked around his wrist like a vice and her knees dug into his chest, keeping him firmly pressed into the snow. She straddled him without a second thought, her body bigger than his after years of starvation in District 8.

He was too skinny. Not strong enough to throw her off. Not tall enough or agile enough to kill her. He was never going to be good enough.

Still, he squirmed underneath her weight, desperately trying to gain a few inches of ground as he fought to get rid of her weight, disarm her, _anything._

His struggles only lasted for a few more minutes before he grew tired of trying for a hopeless desire. Cashmere looked down at him, eyes like ice, a cruel smile flitting briefly across her face. She reached into her coat, her hand emerging with a long-bladed knife, another gift from her wealthy sponsors.

And as if it was nothing, she plunged the knife down, the blade driving straight through the flesh of his arm to the ground below, sticking solidly in the frozen earth. A wretched scream was pulled from deep within his throat, a sound that sounded like it belonged on a wild animal rather than a fifteen year old boy. The knife had just scraped his bone, a sliver of gleaming white among the flesh and matter of his arm. He fought in vain to free his arm, but to no avail. His eyes were clenched shut, trying to stop the free flow of tears from his large eyes.

A pool of blood had begun to gather beneath the broken flesh of his limb, coating Cashmere's hand and knife with a thick layer of crimson. She yanked the knife out of his arm, making the boy flinch violently, trembling from the pain. His eyes cracked opened, and in the depths of them you could see the plea, the begging motion.

_Just make it stop-!_

xx

It lasted for what seemed like hours, the longest final fight in the history of Panem. Cashmere was barely injured - her temple had stopped bleeding long ago and now only a thick stain, the colour of rust, was left on her pale skin.

The young boy from District 8, however, was on the verge of death. Blood ran like a river down his arm, Cashmere's sword still sticking into the muscle of his shoulder as it had been for the past hour. Two identical puncture wounds marked each of his legs, a perfect piece of symmetrical art.

The eighteen year old from District 1 had pondered for quite a long time about what to do next. But the slight tip of her knife proved to be more useful than she could've thought. Now, a myriad of lines crisscrossed the boys stomach and chest, not deep enough to be fatal, though deep enough for droplets of blood to ripple out of the wounds and travel down his sides. His fingers were turning blue from the cold, his jacket and gloves casted aside and buried under the flakes that continued to fall. His teeth chattered from the cold and tears ran like a river down his bright red cheeks, failing to cease as the gray clouds grew darker.

xx

Cashmere finally stood up, releasing the young boy beneath her; though it's not like he could stand up, let alone run. He looked up at her in an almost relieved way, because if she was done torturing him, maybe this was the end. Maybe he would finally die; feel light as air, like a feather drifting through a perfectly blue sky.

Well, it was a nice thought.

The powdery snow crunched under foot as she walked towards his head, moving until she was standing above his face. She scrutinized his features, eyes locking together in a battle of wills. Faust would not blink, not even flinch as she gazed at him, her face expressionless. There was no point in being afraid of her, not when she was the one who would set him free.

Cashmere swiftly yanked the sword from his arm, twisting it in her grasp as if she was inspecting it. She then looked down back at the boy beneath her who had more tears streaming down his face in agony.

"You know something, Eight? Your face is just a little too.. perfect," she trailed off. His eyes widened as she raised the sword above her head, the silver just barely glinting from the fading light. She struck down towards his face, ripping through the soft flesh of his cheek into his mouth. Faust didn't even have time to scream before the cold metal was ripping through his tongue, spattering more blood across his lips and teeth. She twisted the weapon, dragging out a piece of his tongue as she yanked the sword out of his mouth, grinning in satisfaction. A gaping hole took the place of where Cashmere's weapon had been, clots of blood sticking to the edges of his skin.

She took a step back, staring at the tongue speared firmly on the end of her weapon. It was cherry red with his own blood, limp on the tip of her sword. Cashmere barely noticed the boy next to her, struggling to breath through the wave of blood in his own mouth.

xx

Eventually the huntress from District 1 turned her attention back at the boy, slamming the end of her sword into the ground to discard the boy's ragged tongue. Without hesitating a second longer she stabbed the weapon through the his forehead, plunging it as far down as her strength would take it. Her hands released the weapon and it stuck solidly, the hilt slighty waving in the increasing wind.

Cashmere watched as the light faded from Faust's eyes, the dark brown colour losing its innocence as they slowly darkened, changing to match the scene around them. She took a few steps back from his body as the cannon fired, echoing throughout the arena.

She was going home.

xx

The hovercraft whirled overhead, making her blonde hair whip around her face and tangle together. Her eyes closed for only a second, and the setting sun peeked out from behind a dark cloud, as red as the blood that surrounded her.

As she opened her eyes, the sun lit them with fire.


End file.
